


Fledgling

by korik



Series: Misery Mine [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Character Study, Displacement, Distant family interactions, Drabble, Gen, Minor Canonical Character(s), Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young spare comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fledgling

He is young when they bring him home.

Home, they say, is where the heart is. It is no wonder he feels displaced. Lost when he places calloused feet on the hearth of his new room, nothing like the one they would allow him to use upon his birthday.

The ceilings are high and it causes his spirit to sink into the floor. Elegant drapes from the highest windows glimmer with gems he has scarce had time to learn the names of, and he knows he must be impressed. Hundreds of hours he can feel as he runs his fingertips, raw and sore from the scrubbing and cleansing of his old life, over the minuscule patterns that repeat, repeat, repeat to the sway of a sound he swears he can hear breathing in the enclosed space.

Too dark, too heavy, is this what all Solidors do? Be kept in high strung cages with elegant wires to make themselves feel beautiful?

He bows to his Lord brother upon his entrance, unannounced, feeling awkwardly gangly and small as the other laughs, sniffs, and bemoans his dark skin.

The young man tries not to flinch at the familiarity of a hand on his back, the slithering tongue of a brother who most likely means well, but had he been less than Solidor, he is certain the teeth would flash instead.

Again the youth is left alone - and delight spreads across his face. Laughter frees from his chest and mouth as he finds them. Thick and woven tight, smelling richly of time and dust. 

This, this. This is what he wanted.

He cradles the books to his chest, curtains drawn back to allow the light in from the early morning sun, and upon the floor, legs crossed, he reads.


End file.
